


Soulmarked

by KuroFae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aro/Ace Pidge, Canon-Typical Violence, Dyslexia, Dyslexic Keith, Fluff, Gay Keith, Gay Shiro, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Pan Hunk, Pan Matt, Romantic Soulmates, S/H pronouns for Pidge, Shiro and Keith are bros, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Transgirl Pidge, bi lance, broganes, lance has bad taste in music, like. it's not even fade to black it's practically non-existent, lots of feelings, why is the default tag female pronouns ew, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroFae/pseuds/KuroFae
Summary: Keith's eyes drank in images like a man lost in desert. The guy in front – Keith's soulmate – was still talking, but there was only a dull ringing in Keith's ears. He had sharp features – cheekbones and nose prominent and framing blue eyes. Brilliant blue eyes, the same colour as the text on Keith's hand. He was tall, taller than him probably, and lanky, long limbs moving everywhere – pushing a table away, gesturing at Keith, moving to Shiro's right side and pulling him onto his shoulder.Keith was still watching, awestruck, and the other boy was now glaring at him. Had he said something? His soulmate had been talking, he had to say something.The first five words your soulmate ever says to you appear on your body like a natural tattoo, and their thoughts sometimes make it into your head. Keith has an unusual soulmark on his palm, and his soulmate has terrible taste in music. Shiro's got a last name on his calf, but neither him nor his roommate have told each other they're soulmates yet. Lance doesn't have a mark. And yes, he's checked everywhere. But there's still a sullen presence in his consciousness that is definitely not him.EDIT: This fic is abandoned.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> WOWWIE!
> 
> I wasn't going to post this until I had an actual queue of chapters built up... but what's the point of planning am I right? Ahahaha....haha...ha.
> 
> Anyway. This is my first multi-chapter fic and it's been sitting in my docs for about 6 months already... so... yeah. This fic takes place during season one and between one and two. That way it's canon compliant (Keith never takes off his gloves in S1 and Shiro never has short pants so.... canon compliant everyone has soulmarks surprise!). 
> 
> Thank you I'm love you all!
> 
> EDIT: In case you missed it in the summary: this fic is abandoned.

Keith was thirteen when it happened.

He'd been snooping around Shiro's newly-abandoned bedroom, the emptiness feeling wrong and unsettling, like something ominous. The room looked a lot smaller than it had when it was full of stacks of astrophysics textbooks, a telescope, model rockets and solar systems, weights, and a chair piled high with all of Shiro's clothing. The carpet was threadbare where Shiro had navigated around his furniture – and much thicker where his dresser and bed had been for the last seventeen years. Keith had inched his way into the room. In the past it had been both a forbidden space, and a tantalizing one – a peak into Shiro's interests and life. There wasn't much left: a few band posters, peeling at the edges, some abandoned novels, a box full of the clothes that Shiro had decided to leave behind when he left for the Garrison.

He had reached out - of sentimentality or of loneliness without his brother's company, he didn't know; and pressed his palm against a faded poster.

His hand caught on fire.

Or, it felt like it did. Pain flashed across the palm, and Keith's first desperate, wild thought was that he was being punished for touching Shiro's things. He yelped, recoiling, nursing his palm against his chest, but the pain didn't stop – it drew more subtle, but _hot_ , like when he pressed his hand too close to the radiator.

With one last glare at the peeling poster, he had run down the stairs, calling for his mother. She had been worried at first, furiously drying her hands on a tea towel and demanding to see his palm. When he finally opened his fingers, clenched against the pain, she had ruffled his hair and laughed.

Paper thin little marks worked their way along his life line like a spider's web, red and irritated and still hot to the touch. He had whimpered, rubbing at them to dull the ache. They only responded with more heat, and he grimaced.

“What are they?”

“It's your _soulmark_ , Keith.”

*******

Keith couldn't read very well.

This wasn't anything new to him – dyslexia had inhibited him from learning to read and write easily as a young child. He'd been juggled between foster home and foster home, and never made much progress through the school system or with professionals. Now, at fifteen, he had been under the same roof for almost four years, living with Shiro's family. The much-welcomed pause in constant moving had allowed him to settle, and, in his free time, begin to seriously tackle the written language. He'd made a lot of progress, but the novels Shiro had left behind, in the dusty bedroom on the second floor, still caused his head to spin when he opened them. So many words, so close together.

Keith was _very_ certain he was going to fail this exam.

He sat with at least eighty other teenagers in cane-straight rows of cool, metal desks. The hall the encompassed them was large, but not grand – the grey walls and floor reminded Keith of concrete cities or jail cells. There were windows on the wall to his right, with only two rows of teenagers separating him from a view out to the endless desert. The entire hall was nearly silent, the heat from outside muffling everything and making any noise to sound as if it was stuck under a thick blanket. The scratching of pens on paper and the turning of pages were the only sounds made once the clock at the front of the room started ticking.

Right, this was timed.

Keith looked back down at his paper, pen twirling between glove-clad fingers. He was only three pages in. The booklet had been cold, and more importantly, thick, when it was first handed to him. He took a deep breath, and tried to sound out words letter by letter in his head. He had to pass this exam.

Minutes poured into hours, and a few of the students around Keith placed down their pens and began reviewing their answers. A bolt of panic ran through Keith as he turned to page eight. He wasn't even sure if his last answer had been an appropriate response for the question.

Another half hour passed, and Keith gave up any hope of ever passing the entry exams.

*******

Shiro was leaning against the exit of the exam hall, Garrison uniform neatly neatly pressed and shoes gleaming, when Keith stomped out in a sea of teenagers. To an unfamiliar eye, he might look alert and professional. But, Keith was not an unfamiliar eye, and he could tell by the way that Shiro's ankles were crossed and how his eyes stared straight ahead that his brother's mind was elsewhere. So far away, in fact, that he almost missed Keith walking up to him before a textbook and a pen were being forced into his arms. He startled in surprise, and then his eyes softened.

“How'd it go?” Shiro gathered the things Keith had thrust at him, freeing an arm to ruffle his brother's hair.

Keith groaned, and stepped out of the pathway so that he wouldn't be swept away by the rest of the students. He leaned his head on Shiro's shoulder, not answering the question.

“How many did you manage to answer?” Shiro asked him, rubbing his free thumb into Keith's shoulder, still tense with test anxiety.

“Like, ten?” Keith groaned, “Of like. Two hundred. I did a lot more than fail, Shiro. Oh, and those ten questions were diagrams.”

Keith's reading had been improving for sure. He could read books meant for children half his age, the newspaper, and had even begun to teach himself violin once the sheet music had become less daunting.

The writing, however, hadn't made an progress at all. Keith had trouble picturing the correct letter, let alone word, in his head, and then translating it to paper. Somewhere along the way, if he did miraculously get a word, the letters came out backwards, or in the wrong order.

Shiro, ever the optimist, had still encouraged him to take the Garrison entrance exams.

“That's not as bad as it could have been. You could have answered zero of them.” Yes. Optimism. Keith had begun to wonder why he had ever squabbled with his brother. Now he remembered.

“It's pretty bad, Shiro.”

Shiro released his shoulders. “Yeah, okay, it is.” Keith pouted up at him, upset and angry at his own performance. “Don't look at me like that,” Shiro said, a teasing tone hidden under a stern one, “You can still get in. If you do really well on your physical exams and then ace your flight simulator, you'll still be accepted.”

Keith huffed, crossing his arms. Shiro started off down the hall, and he begrudgingly followed, still stomping.

“It's just...” He was whining. Actually whining. “It's not fair. I know the answers! I just can't write them!”

Shiro nodded, sympathetic. “I know, Keith. It's not fair; the world's not fair.” Keith huffed at his backhanded consolation. “It's true! It's not fair, which is why you're such a good pilot that you'll be able to get in without even handing in a written exam.”

It was true, Keith knew. He was most likely the most skilled pilot out of his group of potential cadets. Years of co-piloting with Shiro and his father in any ship they could get their hands on got him good experience. Plus, he was a natural. But still...

“You sure, that even if I ace both the physical and the flight, I'll get in? Which, by the way, I won't – there's no way I can do a hundred chin-ups.”

Shiro glanced over his shoulder. “One, it's only seventy-five chin ups, and you can rest after sets of twenty-five. Two, yes, I figured out their score calculations. It's possible to get in even if you flunk the written portion.”

Keith was still upset, but he huffed in acceptance. Shiro's endless supply of optimism and math won this one. He was being led through a maze of identical hallways – grey and white and orange, the dark green-grey of Shiro's suit making him stand out like a sore thumb. That was the idea, though. Graduate students - military personnel, professors, and staff alike - drew the attention and respect they deserved.

“Oh, by the way,” Shiro said, taking another right, “I managed to get permission for you to stay in my dorm with me. We need time to catch up.”

Keith perked up, just a little, his academic failure slipping a little out of the front of his thoughts. “A sleepover? Man, we haven't done that in, what, three years?”

Shiro laughed, familiar and warm. “Yeah, I guess. A sleepover with you, me, and Matt. I still have a roommate, remember?”

Oh, Keith remembered.

“Oh yeah.... _Holt_ , right?” He teased, Matt's name dripping off his tongue like honey.

Shiro furiously flushed red, and he paused to rub his left shin against the back of his right calf. “I hate you, you know that? You can go sleep with the other eighty kids in the communal dorms.” His words were harsh, but they had no threat in them.

Keith laughed, catching up so that he strode beside his brother. “Fine, fine, I'm sorry, I won't tease about it.” Shiro sent him a stern look, clearly seeing through his empty promise. “Seriously Shiro,” Keith sighed, glancing around to make sure the hallway really was empty, “When are you gonna ask him out? It totally matches! He's probably marked with all your dumb stuttering that you _definitely_ did when he introduced himself.”

Shiro shot Keith _the_ look. “Shut up, or he's gonna feel me talking to you about him and figure it out!”

Keith laughed, but didn't probe any further. That would be unfair, to essentially out Shiro to his soulmate before he was ready. The flashes of thoughts and emotions were helpful, and good for feeling connected to your soulmate before you met, but sometimes they could be annoying. Keith curled the fingers of his right hand over his soulmark, trying to send feelings of fondness to whoever was at the other end. It must have worked, because he got a flash of happiness back, which only disappeared for a second before coming back, along with the chorus of Carly Rae Jepsen's _I Really like You._ It would have been romantic, except it didn't stop. His soulmate had it stuck in his head.

“Ugh,” Keith groaned, out loud, and dropped his hand to his side. Shiro looked at him quizzically. “He's got Carly Rae Jepsen stuck in his head. And now I have to listen to it too.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “He?”

Keith must have froze, or at least looked shocked at the betrayal of his own mouth, because Shiro hastily added to his question. “Of course it's fine! I just didn't know. I thought _you_ didn't know.”

Keith relaxed again. Shiro was about as straight as a crazy straw. He shouldn't have worried. “I guess I do now?”

Shiro smiled at him, a mixture of pride and happiness of his own. “Mom is gonna flip shit about grandchildren.”

“She already did. Stopped when I reminded her that I'm adopted and still her son,” Keith rolled his eyes.

Shiro laughed. “Classic. You know it’s because it never mattered to her, right?”

Keith did. The Shiroganes had been nothing but welcoming when they had opened their home to him as a foster family. Which Keith is still surprised by - his tantrums and misbehaving hadn’t let up just because he was finally with a good family. Too many years of neglect had turned him into an uneasy, paranoid mess. Shiro’s parents were different, of course. Shiro had grown up with a number of foster siblings who came and went, and understood Keith better than any adult or foster sibling ever had. And when his parents figured out why he recoiled from their touch and saw the scars, they hadn’t made them worse, and instead took Keith in permanently.

They stopped at a door exactly like every other one in the building. Shoving Keith's books back into their owner's arms, Shiro rapped quickly with the back of his knuckles. “Matt?” He called, “I'm back; I got Keith.”

The automatic lock of the door clicked, and swung open, revealing a young man who could only be described as warm. Matt was shorter than Keith expected. A lot shorter, actually. He looked nice though, soft golden eyes smiling behind thick glass frames. His hair was a mess, sticking up one side of his head, and his lopsided smile showed off two overly-large front teeth. He was already swinging the door wide open by the time Keith's once-over of him reached his shoes, which were actually just fluffy socks, hand-knit in yellows, blacks, and greens.

“Hey!,” he said, swinging the door open wider until the hinges creaked, “Come on in, nice to meet you!”

Matt introduced himself, and Keith shook his hand. He was given a tour of the dorm (“This is my corner of the room,” Shiro explained, eyes narrowing in the slightest hint of frustration. He gestured to a haphazard pile of books and clothing and his telescope, “and the rest of the floor, desk space, and bathroom is Matt's.”), and was fed some sort of microwave dinner that was, according to the package, supposed to be lasagna. Matt and Shiro chatted with him, filling him in with the going ons at the Garrison. Matt was still a student, even though he technically did graduated alongside Shiro. He was working to get an additional diploma through his robotics and technology studies. Both Matt and Shiro informed Keith that the infamous Iverson was still a terrible jerk, that the food in the caf had, somehow, gotten even mushier and more tasteless, and that Montgomery had suspended, and nearly expelled, a student for tugging at a girl’s hijab last week (‘Fucking asshole,’ Matt said, and then shrieked and threw his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. ‘He’s fifteen, Matt,’ Shiro deadpanned, ‘and also grew up around _me_ ’).

Keith hadn’t actually noticed the swearing, because _I Really Like You_ was still playing in his head on repeat. It was a vicious cycle. His soulmate had it stuck in his head, and Keith heard it, which gets it stuck in his head, and gets projected back to his soulmate. A never ending cycle of terrible pop music overlaying and thoroughly ruining his entire evening, even when Shiro dug half of a slightly-dry chocolate cake out of the fridge and let Keith eat nearly half of it while Matt did the dishes. He could feel his soulmate's irritation, mixed with apologies, (this _was_ his fault, after all) but there was nothing they could do – they'd both just have to tough it out until it stopped.

“You alright, Keith?” Matt asked him, poking his head out of the bathroom door with a toothbrush in one hand, “You look a little uncomfortable.”

Keith stiffened even more, although he wasn't sure how that was possible. The cake wasn’t settling well (probably the icing - his lactose intolerance wasn’t getting better no matter how many times he thought it had) and his pounding head wasn’t making it easy to relax.

“It's okay Matt, it's not you, or Shiro, or being here.” That was true, Keith was having a good time. It was nice to be able to just sit next to Shiro, and to meet his future brother-in-law, if his actual brother could get off his ass and ask Matt out.

Matt still looked concerned, but he didn't know Keith well enough to press for a better answer, and his head disappeared back into the bathroom.

Shiro looked up from the book he was reading. It looked like a textbook, large and glossy. “You _are_ acting weird.”

“It's the stupid song,” Keith hissed, pulling at his bangs with gloved hands, “He hasn't stopped, and now it's stuck in _my_ head, and it's echoing!”

Shiro raised an eyebrow, and shut his book, moving closer to Keith so he could whisper without Matt hearing. Soulmarks and soulmates weren't something to be discussed in front of near-strangers. They were pretty personal.

“Uh, you're still hearing it? Are you sure it's not just stuck in your own head?”

Keith moaned. “It is, but it's definitely him too.”

Shiro's other eyebrow joined the first. “That's not normal,” he whispered, voice ranging into concern, “shared thoughts are only supposed to last up to a few _minutes,_ it's been _hours_.”

Keith sighed. He knew is wasn't normal.

“Soulmarks aren't supposed to be in colour either,” he hissed back, tugging at his gloves. Shiro's eyes widened as Keith flipped his hand so the palm was up and facing his brother. He hadn't ever seen his brother's mark before, even though he had been told about it. Keith hadn't had the chance to show him the brilliant blue scrawl that was etched along his lifeline. As the marks had recovered after first appearing, they had turned cobalt, and his mother had sought out a doctor to explain it. They never really got an explanation out of ‘unless it’s painful, it’s probably fine’ – so little was known about soulmarks and their magic.

Shiro looked at Keith with sympathy. “Those are the worst first words ever, Keith.”

“God, I know.” Keith could read them himself now, but when he was thirteen, his mother had read them to him. Not that it had been difficult.

_Nope, no, no you – no_

That was all Keith had to go on to find his soulmate. Shiro had a name, or well, at least a last name, printed on his right calf, in the exact same cramped handwriting that filled Matt's astrophysics notebooks lying on the desk.

“And on your hand, the hardest place to hide... Wow, you really did not luck out.” Shiro was still whispering, but Matt was running the tap, so he wouldn't have been able to hear anyway.

Keith shook his head. “Nope, and of course, I get the _weird_ mark, a blue one, and really strange shared thoughts.” He pulled his glove back on, the worn leather familiar. “Typical Keith luck. Plus, his handwriting is absolutely terrible.”

“Must suck having to wear gloves all the time,” Shiro drawled, smirking.

“Lemme know what it's like to be unable to wear shorts ever,” Keith shot back, glaring, “at least my mark didn’t ruin my high school career in competitive swimming.”

Shiro opened his mouth to retaliate, to defend the writing across his calf, but the tap was shut off with a click. Matt came back into the room, towelling off his face, glasses hanging from the neckline of his shirt.

“Your turn, Mr. Shirogane, and I want hot water for my shower tomorrow, please and thank you.”

Shiro hopped off the bed, away from Keith, and lightly bumped Matt with his shoulder as he passed. _Utterly disgusting. Get a room._ “I don't use _that_ much water, Matt.”

The door closed behind Shiro before Keith shot Matt a knowing look. _Yes, he does_.

*******

Keith was still awake. He was sharing the bottom bunk with Shiro, which was slightly larger than the top, and also not a nest of blankets and computer cords that belonged to Matt. Next to him, Shiro dozed soundly. Keith could hear Matt snoring quietly above his head. The alarm clock next to him glowed a brilliant blue/green, telling him it was three in the morning.

His soulmate wasn't asleep either, and that was part of the reason Keith was still awake. Every few minutes, the mark on his hand deposited another wave of anxiety, nearing on panic, in his mind. Each time, he tensed, and then the feeling subsided, still underlying, but still there. His soulmate wasn't in a dangerous situation – it didn't feel dangerous, at least, and there wasn't any fear, just stress and an overwhelming feeling of dread and restlessness. He tried sending reassurance back, squeezing his hand tightly and focusing, but he had never been good at consoling people. He got a brief flash of gratitude, but it was washed out almost immediately by more panic.

He groaned, under his breath, and tried again to sleep. He had almost drifted off when the next wave of anxiety hit him, and his tired eyes flung open again.

_Christ._

He must have sent something akin to anger, or exhaustion, because his soulmate sent him an apology, gentle, but not without guilt. Keith hadn't meant to make him feel guilty, and tried to communicate that to him. There was the tiniest glimpse of understanding in return.

His soulmate must have been focusing on sending warm, comforting things now, splashes of love and comfort that played through Keith's mind like a lullaby. He tried to send the same back, but his eyes were sliding closed and his attempt was too unfocused.

He drifted off to sleep within minutes.


	2. Ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything begins.

He'd been waiting for this day for a while now.

He had set explosives along the cliff face, as both a security measure and as a potential distraction. His speeder had a full tank of gas, fresh batteries, and the keys in the ignition. The bandana was tied around his neck, and he checked and double-checked that his gloves and his knife were secure before he climbed onto the roof of the shack.

The last year had been pretty eventful, and he was sick of being caught off his guard.

Keith wasn't sure if the “arrival” was going to be obvious in the way he was anticipating – it could be entirely subtle, or happening on the other side of the Earth. He had no way to tell. The carvings only told vague stories.

He wanted to be prepared in case subtly wasn't fate's strong suit.

He lay on his back, looking up at the sky. There were no lights for miles, and the milky way stretched out in all it's glory, a sparkling arch. The view was incredible, and Keith knew that if a younger version of himself was out here, he would be drawn in and hypnotized by the endless, exponentially growing, and entirely limitless expanse of space. Now, though, Keith only saw it for what it was: dangerous, empty, and covering up lies that were incredibly personal.

He sighed, placing his hands behind his head, thumb idly rubbing over the palm of his right hand. He hadn't spoken to anyone in ages. He wasn't exactly suffering from it; he wasn't a social creature. But, he did miss the thrill of meeting strangers, waiting for their mouths to open and speak the words carved into his palm. He still got the thoughts, the flashes of emotion. There had been a lot of stress, some triumph, and almost omni-present, a nagging desire to _do_ something. In return, he'd probably sent out little but grief and anger over the last year. Keith wondered if he was ever going to meet his soulmate at this rate.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Keith's palm gave a little throb, and he was bombarded with so many emotions at once he could hardly sort through them. Confusion, fear, excitement, disbelief, awe... his soulmate was definitely having an exciting night.

 _Holy fucking shit_ , Keith's soulmate thinks, and Keith agrees with him, solely based off of the emotions he was receiving. Holy fucking shit, indeed; Keith didn't even know it was possible to feel so many things at once in such quick succession.

That's when he sees the meteor.

And now he _definitely_ knows you can feel all those emotions, all at once.

And, apparently, subtly wasn't the way they were playing tonight.

*******

He could tell where it landed, and he already knew the garrison beat him to it. The glow of the blue/green lights on their vehicles and equipment dotted the hollow and gave it a strange glow. He cursed, but there's still a chance for him to figure out those weird carvings tonight. The stretch of land where he had planted the explosives wasn't even three kilometres away. It was plenty easy to see, and would be even more so once he set off the explosives. Planning had never been his strong suit, but he was thankful for the uncharacteristic flash of foresight now. He had half a plan: set off the explosives, bust in, and... well, depending on what he found, he'd go from there. He didn't have a lot of time; the Garrison would act quickly.

He abandoned his perch on the ledge that overlooked the span of the hollow, stowing away his binoculars. His bike was already running, a pleasant hum that had become very familiar to him. He swung a leg over the seat, and took a deep breath through the bandana.

Time to fool the most powerful organization in North America and gain access to top secret information. No big deal.

He gunned the throttle, and the bike made a high pitched whine in protest before lifting up into the air. Keith let the engines settle before forcing the bike forward. The wind whipped through his hair, causing strands to sting his cheeks. He should have tied it up.

The desert night air was cold, and his fingers, uncovered by his gloves, were numb. He fumbled with the trigger for the bombs, pulling it out of his pocket. He had a narrow time window here. Once the Garrison was out, he'd have to get in, grab... whatever he found, get out, and cover his tracks before they got back.

His thumb was jittery over the ignition switch, but as the blue and green glow became brighter, he grit his teeth and pressed the button on top of the remote. It clicked, and for a second, he didn't think it had worked.

The explosion on the horizon made him curse. Round blooms of light and heat reached up out of the ground, and the noise hit him a second later, all roaring and sharp. Keith grunted, and forced the bike to stay on course, in the wave of sound.

When he regained control of the hovercraft, he felt a pleased thrum run through him, and it wasn't just because the Garrison vehicles beneath him were speeding off to investigate his distraction – his soulmate was humming with victory too.

Keith grit his teeth again. Now was _not_ the time. No distractions. He had a job to do.

*******

It hadn't been a problem until he actually got to The Thing. Getting in through the newly unguarded front door, navigating the hastily set up hallways, and taking out the three masked, robed scientists hadn't been a problem. His knuckles stung a little from the contact with one of the masks, but he could deal. The fact that he had left his bike outside, unattended, caused worried little thoughts to run around in his head, but he was focusing on what was happening now.

And The Thing, the mysterious thing that he'd come in for, is what he couldn't handle.

It was _Shiro_ , and Keith couldn't believe what he was seeing.

It had been a year, yeah, but Shiro's hair had never been streaked with grey, or bleached, unnatural white. He had never had a terrible, _deep_ large scar across his nose and cheekbones. His skin had never looked so pale under the fluorescent lights of the Garrison containment building. His cheekbones had never been so prominent, or the bags under his eyes so dark. He looked like he was solid muscle, but in a thin, ragged way–no fat had settled on him; he probably hadn't had enough food for it to build up. And his arm–

 _God, his_ _arm_ –

Keith tried not to think about it. He had to get him out of here, had to get him to the shack. He ignored the voice in his head, saying that maybe, maybe, this wasn't The Thing, “the arrival.” His brother, beaten and broken, took priority.

The knife was out of his belt before he even realized what he was doing. The straps cut, and Shiro slung over one shoulder before he had even processed that Shiro was _alive_.

The world was spinning around him, and it was probably because of how damn confused he was. Lion carvings leading him to Shiro's crash site? Shiro wasn't dead? His arm, dangling uselessly towards the ground, was very metal and very, very alien. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to him in his panic. Keith's life had been hell for the last year; was all of that changing? What the hell was the Garrison hiding?

Keith's life couldn't turn any more upside down. This was it, a complete one hundred and eighty degrees. Aliens, prophetic lion carvings, and the return of a dead man.

 _Nothing could get any weirder, right?_ Keith tried to comfort himself, _This is all you'll have to deal with today._

Oh, did the universe love to prove him wrong.

He looked up. Footsteps were coming down the hallway, tapping in a flurry of small noises. How many? Three sets, four? Keith tensed, free hand shifting to his knife. He dared a peek at Shiro. He _would_ get him out of here.

“Nope!”

His head swung upwards.

It wasn't Garrison goons. Or at least, he didn't think so. Three boys were crowding in the doorway, two with eyes wide with curiosity and nervousness. The third, at the front, wore a scowl that automatically made Keith tense.

“No! No, you- no, no no no no no -”

Keith's guard dropped instantly, and his eyes widen to twice their size.

_Holy fucking shit._

His hand around Shiro's waist tingled, and then lit up with a flare of heat.

Keith's eyes drank in images like a man lost in desert. The guy in front – Keith's _soulmate –_ was still talking, but there was only a dull ringing in Keith's ears. He had sharp features – cheekbones and nose prominent and framing blue eyes. Brilliant blue eyes, the same colour as the text on Keith's hand. He was tall, taller than him probably, and lanky, long limbs moving everywhere – pushing a table away, gesturing at Keith, moving to Shiro's right side and pulling him onto his shoulder.

Keith was still watching, awestruck, and the other boy was now glaring at him. Had he said something? His soulmate had been talking; he had to say something.

He panicked. Tried to channel Shiro, unconscious between their arms. Third wheeling on their meeting. How very like him.

 _Ask him for his name,_ Shiro's voice curled around in Keith's head, from years of advice and comfort.

“Who are you?” Keith blurted out, panicked, overwhelmed, and falling head over heels for this boy, glaring and defiant in front of him.

He immediately hated himself.

He sounded angry, unimpressed, emotionally flat. Even to his own ears, he sounded arrogant and off-putting.

_Fuck._

His soulmate responded in kind, lip curling. “The name's _Lance_ ,” He drawled, and stared at Keith.

 _God, his eyes are blue,_ Keith thought, and suddenly became aware of how warm he felt. Lance seemed unimpressed with the lack of reaction on Keith's face–Keith was trying too hard to keep his blush at bay.

“We were in the Garrison together?”

Keith's brain short circuited. They had been? He had never paid much mind to the students around him, focused entirely on keeping top of his class in the simulator and in physical exams, or else risk his expulsion. He had been chasing after Shiro – trust his brother to lead him to where he needed to be, in the most roundabout way possible. Asshole.

Keith became very aware that he had only said three words, three very _common_ words, to Lance. He had to say something recognizable; Lance's soulmark had to have something to help him identify Keith, right now.

“Oh, are you an engineer?”

Engineer! That's a recognizable word!

It's also the eighth word he's spoken. Soulmarks are only the first five.

_Fuck._

Lance snarled in response, “No, I'm a pilot!”

Keith had fucked up. Keith had _really_ fucked up.

“We were rivals! You know, Keith and Lance, Lance and Keith, neck in neck?”

If there was one thing Keith wasn't at the Garrison, it was rivalled. At least, to his knowledge. But, Lance seemed set in this fact, lips pressed together adorably. His eyebrows furrowed, causing little creases between his eyes.

Keith recognized that scowl.

“Oh, I remember you!” He was excited. He did know Lance! “You're a cargo pilot!”

Lance's scowl got even deeper if that was possible, and Keith cursed to himself once again. He hadn't meant it as an insult, but Lance had definitely taken it that way.

“Not anymore. I'm fighter class now, thanks to you washing out.”

Oh, was that what the Garrison was calling it? When he had fought tooth and nail to try to get information surrounding his brother's death to send to his mother, he'd been washing out? When the Garrison officials had jabbed at him with their tasers, over and over, even once he was lying on the ground, he was willingly leaving the program? When he had finally managed to escape their torment and captivity to make it out to the desert, they just wrote it off as a discipline issue?

Keith hadn't washed out.

“Well, congratulations,” he said, and this time, he felt just as flat as his voice sounded. Lance's companions–probably friends; other students, from the Garrison–urged them to move.

Lance helped him drag Shiro to his speeder, and when all five of them were safely out of the grasp of the Garrison, Keith took a second to gather his feelings, and found that they were just as muddled and confusing as they had been before he met Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for all the amazing support on the first chapter! It really means a lot to me! I plan on updating every Tuesday from here on out!

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://kuro-paladin.tumblr.com)
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> Comments and kudos literally fuel my existence, validation is my oxygen.


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